One night at Joe's
by JenniFromtheBlock
Summary: A night at Joe's.
1. Chapter 1

Owen walked through the hospital lobby towards the exit. It was 10pm and it had been a long day, but as always, Owen was wide awake. He had paged Cristina three times in the past two hours, hoping to see her before he left, hoping that he could do more than just see her, but there had been no response. She wasn't on the board for a surgery, and he couldn't think of a reason why she would be avoiding him now, but then again, he believed most of the behavior he had shown her in the past few months would be reason enough to avoid him.

Derek Shepherd was standing by the front doors talking on his cell. As Owen approached, Derek closed his phone and waved him over.

"Dr. Hunt—Sloan is over at Joe's and says there's something that shouldn't be missed. Want to get a beer?"

"What's going on?"

"He wouldn't be specific, but it was something about karaoke gone wrong. Are you in?"

Owen didn't have to think long. Leaving work was the loneliest time of day, broken up only by the lucky occasions when he had gotten to be with Cristina. The night lay ahead of him, lengthy and sleepless. And for the most part, he liked Derek Shepherd. He didn't know him well, but he seemed a good enough guy. Definitely different than most of the men he had known in the army, but a good guy just the same. As for Mark Sloan, well, after his injury, Owen had gotten to know Mark far more intimately than either one of them had planned. He liked Mark, and liked him even more so once he had gotten over the initial jealousy owing to Mark's brief flirtation with Cristina. Five minutes with Mark made him realize that there was no way in hell Cristina would ever be interested in him, and that Cristina was just sport to Mark. There was no threat there.

"Yeah, a beer sounds good," Owen replied. They left through the double doors together, chatting about their day.


	2. Chapter 2

The noise coming from Joe's was louder than normal, and Derek and Owen glanced at each other with a questioning look. Owen pulled the door handle and Derek stepped inside. Owen followed him, and stopped abruptly right next to Derek, both surprised at the sight.

The crowd seemed bigger than usual, and most of them were focused towards the bar on which Callie was standing and singing into a microphone. Next to her, Meredith, Cristina, and Lexie were all dancing on the bar top, laughing and shaking their hips, completely oblivious to everyone around them. Cristina and Lexie both had beer bottles in their hands, and Meredith had a bottle of tequila that she took a swig from and passed to Callie, who then dropped a line of the song she was singing to take a long pull from the bottle.

Owen and Derek looked at each other, then looked back at the bar, and back at each other, a classic double take, but their expressions were definitely different. Derek's was more an amused, I've seen this all before smile. Owen, on the other hand, had that look of jaw-dropping disbelief, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Were these the same women he saw on a daily basis, craving blood and broken bones, wrist deep in body cavities?

Derek pulled his phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and read a text. He turned and searched through the room, spotted Mark, turned back and nodded to Owen in the direction of the back corner. Mark waved them over as he ordered from the waitress standing by his table. Owen could see Mark hold up three fingers, and the waitress turned to make her way back towards the bar. They threaded their way through the crowd and arrived at the table.

"Gentlemen," Mark said, as they sat down, "I have discovered that it is true that you learn something new every day." He leaned back in his chair, raised his almost empty pint glass and waved it towards the bar where the women were still dancing and Callie was belting out "I Will Survive."

"Today, I have learned several things. I have learned that I had no clue Torres could sing like that. I have learned that every woman, no matter who they are, or where they are from, or what they do for a living, knows the words to that man-hating song. And most importantly, I've learned that my girlfriend," Mark said, and they all looked towards Lexie, "I've learned that my girlfriend is the absolute worst dancer on the face of the planet."

Focusing on Lexie, they could see that she was a pretty awful dancer. In fact, she was mostly a bouncer, bouncing up and down and turning in circles, arms waving in an awkward spastic fit. It was cute, charming, even, but definitely bad, very, very bad.

Owen watched the four of them dance. Callie shook her hips, but mostly concentrated on singing. Lexie was unknowingly clumsy, and Meredith generally stayed stationary swaying to the music and waving her arms rhythmically. But it was Cristina he couldn't take his eyes off of, the way she moved in time to the music, twisting about, shaking her curly hair all around as if she hadn't a care in the world. She wore jeans and a tank top with a little sweater over it, and when she raised her arms in the air to do the bump with Meredith, it revealed her flat stomach, and it was so, so sexy. Owen sucked in a breath of air, and realized he was staring. He hoped Derek and Mark hadn't noticed.

What drew Owen in the most, however, was not the way she moved, but the expression of absolute joy on Cristina's face. She was laughing and shouting along with Callie's singing. Owen had seen glimpses of that happiness at moments here and there when Cristina had dared to let herself go, most notably the time he kissed her by the vent, when she laughed so at the force of the air blowing up at them. Most of the time, though, she controlled her emotions to the point where he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He thought he knew sometimes, but other times he would say something to her and she would just look at him as if she were trying to understand why he would possibly want to say such sweet things to her.

But here, tonight, dancing on the bar, she looked so joyful and carefree. And Owen found it mesmerizing.

If this was how she was amongst her circle of friends, he wanted to be part of that circle. No, he wanted to be in the center of that circle with her. He wanted to feel that freedom, that same kind of abandonment when he was with her as he was witnessing from her right now dancing on the bar.

Owen, Derek, and Mark watched the women for a few moments, not speaking. The music changed, and Callie wasn't about to give up the mike. She began singing "I Kissed a Girl," and pointed to the crowd. Their eyes followed in the direction of Callie's finger and saw Arizona, clapping and laughing.

"Do you think we should let them know we're here?" Derek asked.

"Nah, let them discover it on their own," Mark said. "It's a girl celebration. We might spoil it."

Owen looked at Mark. "What's the occasion?" He asked.

"Lexie took her intern test, Meredith and Cristina have finished the second year of residency, and Callie, well, Callie just likes a good party," Mark said. "Lexie told me before she remembered she wasn't supposed to tell me. It's a non-doctor doctor party--no attendings allowed. She's not very good with secrets."

The waitress returned to their table with their beers. "Three Sierra Nevadas, and Joe says they'll be more of them and on the house if you can get those four off the bar. It's going on half an hour, and customers can't get through to order their drinks." She left the pints and went to deliver a round to the next table.

The men looked at each other. "It's your call," Owen said, as he took a sip of his beer. "You're engaged and you've got a girlfriend, so it's all on you to bust this up and suffer the consequences."

Mark and Derek both laughed. Mark knew Owen had a thing for Cristina; why, he surely didn't understand, but he had seen the way Owen watched her every move when they were in the same room. And Derek knew Owen and Cristina weren't exactly seeing each other, but that something was going on; Meredith wasn't telling, but it had been implied. But Mark and Derek didn't know the other knew, so neither said anything.

Again they looked at the girls, considering whether or not to make themselves known, when the decision was taken out of their hands. Derek had caught Meredith's eye, and she smiled and pointed in his direction. Lexie noticed, turned their way, and waved wildly at Mark. Meredith turned to Cristina as they danced, whispered something in her ear, and Cristina laughed. Owen saw it, and his heart skipped a beat. She was so beautiful. He watched her, and she looked out over the crowd, directly into his eyes as if she knew exactly where he would be. She smiled at him, a smile just for him. He smiled back, completely unaware of anyone or anything around him.

The song came to an end, and Callie seemed surprised that the jukebox started up. Joe must've pulled the plug on the karaoke machine. Cristina whispered something back to Meredith, who was drinking more tequila. They laughed and Cristina took a drink from the bottle. Then they held hands and slowly and completely ungracefully tried to climb off the bar. There was a moment of tension where it looked as if they both might tumble, and both Derek and Owen, unbeknownst to one another, raised a bit out of their seats, but they eventually made it down safely in one piece and started to weave through people to the table. Lexie followed and Callie went to sit with Arizona, who greeted her with a high five and a cocktail.

Owen and Derek pulled a couple of unoccupied chairs over to the table. The women arrived looking far more visibly drunk than they had from a distance. Cristina plopped herself down in the chair next to Owen, and he leaned in her direction slightly. She smelled of perfume and tequila.

Lexie had a frown on her face. "You told!" She scolded Mark. "You told the secret. The secret celebration secret. Anne Frank is not supposed to tell secrets. Anne Frank is the secret!"

Derek looked at Mark questioningly. "Anne Frank?"

Mark ignored him. "You told the secret first. You don't even like secrets."

"No," Lexie said, frowning into her beer, "I don't."

Owen felt Cristina's gaze on him and he glanced to his left. She was watching him with a slight smile, and still not talking, but her eyes had that drunken glaze to them, as if everything was just a little more amusing than usual. She took off her sweater, and then lifted her hair into a ponytail and fanned the back of her neck. "It's hot in here," she said, looking right at him. Owen's mouth dropped open in surprise—she was flirting with him openly, right here in front of everyone. She let her hair drop down on her bare shoulders and leaned forward resting her left elbow on the table with her chin in her hand.

"I'm engaged!" Meredith declared loudly. "I'm engaged and we're getting married like people in a healthy relationship! We'll be healthy married doctor people, even if we do have crappy DNA!"

Derek laughed, and Owen noticed that Derek seemed used to drunken declarations. He wondered if what he was witnessing tonight was a usual thing. Did these girls do this frequently? He glanced over at Cristina again; her head was still on her hand but she was looking at Meredith.

"Yes, there will be plenty of crappy DNA between us to spread around to all of our children," Derek replied.

"I don't feel so good," Lexie said. She sat up straight and took a deep breath.

"Uh oh," said Cristina, slurring her words, "Oh God, Three is going to puke. Are you going to puke, Three? Seriously, you are so not allowed to puke. Sloan, take her home to throw up. Three, you're still an intern until you can hold your tequila. Doesn't matter if you are a Lexipedia."

Mark stood and took Lexie's arm. "Come on," he said, lifting her gently, "Anne Frank will take you home to the attic."

Do these people speak in code? Owen felt lost in the conversation. He watched as Lexie leaned against Mark, but was distracted by something in his hand. He glanced down. Cristina had slipped her right hand into his under the table, and their intertwined fingers leaned against his thigh. He squeezed her hand gently and felt a light squeeze back. She still wasn't looking at him. They had their own secrets, too.

Mark faced them. "Say goodnight, Lexie." Her head was now leaning on his chest with eyes closed.

"Goodnight," she mumbled. Meredith laughed as Mark half-carried, half-dragged Lexie out of the bar.

"As sisters go, she's really not so bad," Meredith said. "But don't tell her I said so."

"She's not so bad," Cristina repeated. She had leaned slightly, almost imperceptibly to her right, closer towards Owen. She hoped no one except Owen had noticed, but also she knew she was really too drunk to actually trust her spatial judgment; she could be practically sitting in his lap and not realize. But she had decided it was just Mer and Derek, so she could take a chance. Mer wouldn't say anything, and wouldn't let Derek say anything.

"Dance with me, husband," Meredith said, standing up unsteadily. "I want to dance, and you are my husband. Or will be. So you have to dance with me."

"I guess dancing with your wife is part of the deal, isn't it? Let's go then, wife," Derek replied. He got up, stepped around the table and wrapped an arm around Meredith's waist to stabilize her. They moved over to the group of people dancing on the other side of the room.

Cristina and Owen watched Meredith and Derek walk away, and Cristina leaned back in her chair so her bare shoulder was against Owen's arm. She let go of his hand under the table and rested hers midway up his thigh; she heard him catch his breath. She looked up into his deep blue eyes, and said, "You realize I'm flirting outrageously with you, don't you?"

Owen blushed slightly, and ducked his head so his lips were dangerously close to hers. "I am intensely, or some would say, painfully aware, of that fact." She giggled, which was odd. Cristina Yang was not one to giggle, but there it was, and it seemed natural. Owen continued. "If I were drunk, or you were sober, I probably would have taken you home and torn off all of your clothes by now." He sighed and she felt his breath on her lips. "But you are drunk and I am sober, and that makes it a bit more creepy and wrong to take you home and do unspeakable things to you."

Cristina frowned, and then reached across the table to the half-empty bottle of tequila. She slid it in front of Owen. "Well, then, drink up and let's even this out."

He laughed, and reached for his pint instead of the tequila and took a sip. "Nope, not tonight. I don't want either of us drunk. I want you to remember me the next morning."

She furrowed her brow, took his pint glass from his hand and drank a big gulp from it. She knew he was right, but it was still frustrating. She leaned her head back again on his shoulder and looked up at him. Again, her lips were close to his. "You're killing me here," she whispered.

"You're doing the same to me," he whispered back.

"Not even a kiss?"

Her eyes stared deeply into his. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he was sober and she wasn't. "Not here," he said, glancing up at the room, "Not this public."

And she knew he was right; half the people in the bar worked at the hospital. She had already done enough tonight to start some rumors.

"Okay. You win." She sat up and ran her hands through her hair. Meredith and Derek were approaching.

"Derek and Meredith Shepherd are going home now," Meredith announced.

"Meredith Grey-Shepherd," Cristina corrected her.

"Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey-Shepherd are going home now," Derek repeated. He turned towards Owen. "I've got this one. You think you can handle getting that one home?" He asked, nodding towards Cristina.

Owen laughed again. "She's a handful, but I think I can handle her," he said, and he immediately felt a whap on his chest from the back of Cristina's hand. He continued. "I might be a bit bruised tomorrow, though." Cristina whapped him again.

Derek smiled knowingly. Owen could definitely handle Cristina. "Alright then. Goodnight, you two," he said.

"Goodnight," said Meredith, who gave Cristina a look. Cristina gave her a look back. Neither Owen nor Derek knew what it meant, but they also knew Meredith and Cristina had a secret silent language between each other that only they understood. Meredith waved at them both and then they made their way to the exit.

"Are you ready to go home, or do you want to stay here and continue celebrating?" Owen asked.

"Home," Cristina said. "Take me home." Then, as an afterthought, "I'm hungry."

"Do you want to go eat somewhere?" Owen asked, surprised. He wasn't sure she was in any condition to go out, but he knew if she got it in her head, they were going.

She considered for a minute. "No, let's go home. I want toast. Toast would be perfect."

"Toast it is, then," he said, amused. They stood up, and he helped her put her sweater on, and then guided her towards the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Cristina couldn't tell if it was the tequila that was making her wobbly or if it was Owen standing so closely behind her. She had been trying to fit the key into the lock and couldn't quite seem to get it—was the lock moving around or was she the unstable one? Owen put his left hand on her hip to steady her, and took her right hand in his to guide the key in. They heard the snap of the bolt as it slid open. She leaned her head back against him, looked up, and fluttered her eyelashes.

"You have very steady hands. You must be a surgeon. Do you wanna go inside and play doctor?"

Owen laughed. "Very tempting, Dr. Yang." He turned the knob and pushed the door open. "But I seem to recall a request for toast?" He tapped her lightly on her hip and she walked inside. Owen followed, closing the door behind them. Cristina stepped out of her shoes and left them in the entry. She took off her sweater and threw it over the back of the barstool, where it slid off onto the floor. Owen had a fleeting thought that he was going to have to get used to her messiness because living with her wouldn't be nearly as shipshape as being in the army. Then he realized he was thinking about living with her—where did that come from? What was it about this girl that kept making him want to make plans for the future?

Cristina was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, considering the advantages and disadvantages of hopping up onto it. On the plus side, popping herself up to sit on it would put her eye level with Owen, and she could also wrap her legs around him should he decide to move in for a kiss. On the other hand, she was 90% sure that if she tried to jump up, she would miss and fall on her face. That was definitely not sexy. She decided to stay where she was. "Toast, please," she said, pointing towards the toaster.

"Yes, dear." He took off his jacket and put it around the back of the same barstool her sweater had fallen off of, then kicked her shoes to the side so she wouldn't trip over them, and entered the kitchen. He opened the fridge, found a loaf of bread, and pulled it out. "How many slices?"

"Four."

He turned back to her in disbelief. "Four?"

"Four. Toast is important. Soaks up the alcohol."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It's a fact. Carbs are the best."

He turned back, smiling, fiddling with the toaster. "Okay, if you say so."

"I do say so." Cristina said. She watched Owen as he pulled the bread out of the bag, considering the back of his neck, his slightly curly red hair, and the pale freckles just beneath the hairline. His neck was pretty cute; she wondered what it was about her own neck that he liked so much. She decided to go sneak a peek into the mirror in her bedroom to see if she could figure it out. "I'm going to go change," she said, and wandered out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards her room.

Owen continued to putter in her kitchen, getting out the butter while the bread toasted, pouring the glass of water that Cristina was definitely going to need, generally tidying up a bit. He liked being in her space; it felt natural and comfortable.

A few minutes later Cristina came back into the kitchen still wearing the same tank top, but she had changed into red plaid pajama bottoms and was barefoot. Owen was drinking a beer that he had found in the fridge. He picked up the glass of water and handed it to Cristina along with three Advil. "Take these. Preventative measures," he said.

"No, I don't need those. I'm sobering up. Just toast."

"Take them. You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't." He put them in her hand.  
" I don't want them. You're not the boss of me."

"Technically, I am the boss of you." Cristina made a face at Owen. He grinned. "But I'll put them away if you don't want them."

She thought about the wobbly lock and the bottle of tequila. "No. You're probably right. I'll take them."

She swallowed the Advil, and chugged down the water. When she put down the glass, Owen handed her a plate stacked with buttered toast. "Mmmm," she mumbled, popping a piece into her mouth. "Delicious." She turned and headed to the sofa, where she sat down in the middle, her legs folded under her. Owen followed and sat down next to her. He watched her munch away contentedly. "Here. Have some." She held up a piece and he took a bite. It did taste awfully good. "See? I told you. It's the best. And you make perfect toast," she said. "I think I'll keep you."

He smiled and put his beer down on the coffee table. "What makes you think you've got me already?" He asked.

She paused from snacking and looked up at him from under her lashes. "Oh, I've got you. Don't even try to pretend that I don't." She went back to eating. He kept smiling, but didn't respond. What could he say? He knew what she was saying was true. She had stopped eating again. "But you still do owe me a date. A real date."

His eyes clouded as he remembered the results of their first official date, and how he had ended up drunk and fully clothed in her shower. He was sure when he had woken naked and alone in her bed the next morning that he had ruined his only opportunity to be with her, and was honestly shocked when she agreed to give him another chance. He knew he owed Cristina more than just a date.

"I do. I do owe you a proper date. I want it to be right, the perfect date. Something you deserve. Not just drinks at Joe's and dinner. Something special." There was a note of regret in his voice. He had already planned the perfect date once, and ruined it. There was every reason in his mind to believe that he would ruin it again, too, and no reason for Cristina to give him a third chance.

Cristina saw the furrow in his brow and sensed his mood had shifted. She put the plate of toast down for a moment, and took his hand. "You know," she said softly, "I'm not a glass vase. I'm not going to break easily." She heard him draw in a breath. "You won't disappoint me."

Their eyes met. She felt his thumb rub against the palm of her hand.

"I might," he said quietly.

"You won't," she replied.

They looked at each other for a few moments. Then Cristina lifted Owen's arm over her head and snuggled into him. He brought his arm down around her and held her tight, then leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head. She rested her hand on his chest, and they sat like that, quiet and contented, listening to the sounds of each other breathing, for a long while.

Eventually, Cristina sat up and moved the plate from her lap to the table. She yawned, and Owen made to get up. "I should go," he said.

Cristina put her hand on his knee and looked back at him. "No. Don't go."

She snuggled back into the crook of his arm. He slid down so that he and Cristina were lying next to one another, she wedged between him and the back of the sofa. Her head was on his shoulder and his arm was wrapped around her, while the other played with some of her stray curls.

Cristina looked up at Owen; yet again that night, their lips were so close together they could breathe each other's breath, and she gently kissed him, once, twice, three times. Her lips felt buttery and warm. Owen watched her a moment, then leaned in and kissed her once more, longer, deeper, trying to say all the things he had not words for in a single kiss. When he finally broke away, she sighed contentedly, a slight smile on her face, and her eyes fluttered closed. Soon, Owen could tell she was fast asleep. And before he knew it, he had drifted off asleep, as well.

And so when Callie and Arizona came home a few hours later after closing time, they headed towards Callie's room, tiptoeing quietly past the sofa so as not to wake the couple, sleeping deeply, a tangle of arms and legs wrapped around one another as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
